


Tie It Back

by homoose



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:42:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27971780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homoose/pseuds/homoose
Summary: Literally just the season 5 hair tie thing.Warnings/Includes: oral sex (gn!receiving); v light sub!spencer vibesa/n: It’s thirsting hours over here. Based on that lil idea that’s been floating around the fandom forever and a day.
Relationships: Spencer Reid & Reader, Spencer Reid & You, Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 73





	Tie It Back

Spencer Reid loved going down on you.

He loved the act of it, the song and dance. 

He loved kissing your thighs, nipping here and there to leave pretty pink and purple marks on the delicate skin— marks only he would see.

He loved running his hands up and down your legs, feeling the goosebumps form as he fanned warm breath over your most intimate places.

He loved the way your toes curled when you were close, the arch of your back when you finally let go.

He loved the taste of you, lingering on his tongue long after you came.

He loved that you gave him, of all people, access to this most unguarded side of yourself—where trust and adoration were so uniformly wrapped up into every hitch of your breath, every sigh of his name, every press of your heel into his back, every squeeze of your fingers against his own.

Yeah, Spencer Reid loved going down on you.

But his hair was getting too long.

He had let it grow more out of negligence than for aesthetic purposes. And then once your hands had found their way there that first time, grasping and tugging gently at the root, cutting it was no longer an option he was willing to entertain.

The pressure on his scalp was always a reassuring reminder that he belonged to you, that you _wanted_ him— your possessiveness the stark evidence of a love that he had only ever dreamed of.

Your hands in his hair were also a testament to the way he made you come undone, the way his hands and mouth stripped you down to the most vulnerable version of yourself and left you begging for him to _don’t stop, never stop_ — again, a request that he never thought he would hear.

So no, he couldn’t cut his hair.

But right now, he’s trying to press his mouth against you just right, trying to latch on and provide the suction he knows will draw that pretty whine from your kiss-bruised lips, and his hair is _in the way_.

He has to unwind his arm from underneath your thigh where he’d been grasping, pressing, holding you open for his tongue, his lips, his breath. He brings his fingers up to his part, smoothing the hair back and tucking it behind his ear before diving back in. He drags his tongue up the length of you, brings his lips together to suck, and there’s that high-pitched whine dancing through his ears and striking against the most primal part of his brain.

And then your fingers are in his hair again, pulling _hard_ and unceremoniously destroying the order he’d just restored. Your mouth is gasping out his name, and his cock is throbbing, and you’re tugging at his roots, and he’s using his mouth to bring you right up to the edge of the cliff.

His ministrations are so calculated, so practiced, so perfect that you’re letting out a groan and an _I’m close I’m close I’m close_. And then your hands are out of his hair and locked around the headboard. And then his hair is in his face, and in his mouth, and stuck to the mixture of your come on his lips, and he can’t take it anymore.

He sits back on his heels, shushing your confused whine and running his hand through his hair, the ends wet with come. He brings both hands up to his face, pulling his hair back and down toward the nape of his neck. Then he loops the hair tie around the bundle of hair hastily, securing it and looking up at you as he lowers himself back to the task at hand.

You whisper out a _holy fuck_ and your eyes roll back in your head at the sight of him, all dilated pupils and swollen lips and _ponytail_.

He runs his tongue along you and then sucks—hard, and you’re coming before he’s even had a chance to really get into the rhythm again. He’s a little bit sad that it’s over, that you’re whining from oversensitivty, but then you’re pulling him up _by his ponytail_ and his cock throbs where it’s leaking between your bodies, dragging against your sex.

Your mouth is on his, teeth clacking and tongues melding together over the taste of your come, your voice whispering _so good, baby, so good for me_. And then your hand is wrapping the length of his tied-back hair around your fingers and yanking his head back, exposing his neck to your possessive teeth and tongue.

And yeah, he absolutely cannot cut his hair.


End file.
